Much confusion amid the early morning soreness. A cake. For what? And how did Betty Crocker get up here? The porters were outside the tent dancing and singing Hakuna Matata. Don’t worry, be happy. I thought better of sticking my head out of the tent and telling them we have no cash (a different story for a different day) but, don’t worry. Be happy. I don’t think that would work. There’d probably be plenty of worrying, some sadness and a few headless bodies. Hakuna matata, indeed! It dawned on me a few days later that the cake and the singing of Happy Birthday mixed with a rousing chorus of Hakuna Matata, Don’t Worry, Be Happy, Now Where’s Our Freaking Money? was likely for me since it was my birthday (and their payday). The effects of the brown jellybean were slow to wear off. The cake, BTW, was really delicious.

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